SCAVENGER HUNT

Throughout the tour, participating blogs will be posting a question for readers to hunt down on Keri Lake’s website. Questions can be found throughout the site: book pages, snippets, blog posts and glossary. Most questions will be related to the Sons of Wrath series. A few bloggers will have added bonus questions taken directly from Soul Avenged.

You can visit Keri Lake’s Scavenger Hunt page by clicking on the button. Record your answers on the Answer Sheet. At the end of the tour, you’ll be able to submit your responses via Google Doc right on the Scavenger Hunt page. The individual with the MOST correct responses will win a MYSTERY PRIZE, valued at $125.

Here is the question assigned to this blog:

What’s the name of the antibody that confers resistance to Lycan venom?

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Read with us!

Logan lay on the concrete slab that’d served as his bed for the last fifty years—the same place where a thousand nightmares came to life as blades of varying size and serrations carved his flesh, chipping away, little by little, at his soul. Whatever he’d become, whatever his life would be had been written in the stone that pressed into his back and carried the blood of his abuses.

Light slowly filtered in, the usual amber glow that alerted him the Enforcer had come to mete out another punishment on his body. Heat penetrated the cold cell, hardly discernible anymore— the sensations of cold and warmth nothing more than ghostly transitions between one torture and the next.

A deep inhale, and Logan tilted his head back as usual, closed his eyes, awaiting the onslaught. The thud of boots pounded across the room, chains and other tools clanking with each step. Part of him wished they still inflicted the same tension in his muscles.

When had he become so numb?

At least the pain from the blade still told him that he could feel something; it reminded him that somewhere beneath the flesh and blood ran nerves and sensations that could still be affected—that his bastardly heart still beat a rhythm of life.

Cursing from the next room over caught Logan off guard and forced a twitch.

Damn the feelings he’d developed toward his brother, Gavin, in the last few years. The way they’d looked out for each other in the hellhole and, together, avoided getting their asses flayed. Gavin had grown as indifferent as Logan to the agony of the torture, unlike before, when Logan had gotten a sick thrill out of hearing his brother grunt and curse in pain, until at some point, and Logan couldn’t even pinpoint when, it stopped.

Silence.

And for the first time Logan realized what he’d put his brother through by being mute through all of his tortures for so many years.

The hell of being alone in torment.

Logan opened his eyes. Another outcry, this time followed by … laughter? A pop signaled the binds at his feet had been loosened—a relief that only came at the end of a torture. Each limb felt as if it’d float away from his body as the Enforcer set them free one by one.

Daring not to move, Logan lay staring at the mirrored ceiling. A new torture? Boots thumped until the sound faded, and still the light infiltrated the room. Logan’s heart caught in his throat. His mind scrambled to calculate numbers that refused to formulate in his head.

Well, shit. It seemed his sentence in Obsidius had come to an end.

That’s how it came to pass in the inferno of eternal pain—his blood now speckled the concrete and walls, like the victim’s before him—the patterns, the only evidence of his tortures that made him unique from any other prisoner who’d passed through the hell. That and he’d survived.

Not a word muttered from his tormentor, the one he’d felt a kinship with, a sick admiration like some Stockholm bullshit.

Nothing but silence.

Gavin’s face came into view. He’d begun to look sickly and tired in the last few years but something sparked in his eyes and Logan realized what he himself lacked: purpose. Like the demon had a fucking meeting to get to all of a sudden.

“You gonna lie there and rot?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I got a better one if you’re interested.” Gavin sniffed. “Come work for me. You can stay at the mansion. Meet your other brothers. Have a life.”

Logan forced himself to a sitting position, feeling like a beaten old man as his bones popped with the motion, his newly healed scars damn near creaking as they stretched. “I don’t think so.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I was thinking of tracking down the bastards who ratted me out.”

Logan anchored his stare on Gavin’s, a challenge to tell him different. After all, the brother tried to talk him out of every other stupid move he’d made in the shithole.

That spark seemed to lose its shine, though it could’ve been Logan’s own guilt making him see things that just shouldn’t be. Yeah, the guy suffered beside him, shared his blood and kept Logan’s sorry ass out of trouble more times than not.

Shame on him.

Too bad Logan hadn’t been equipped with a conscience or brotherly love enough to let that stop him from dismissing the gesture, just like that.

“What if I helped you find them?”

The fuck? “Nah.”

Gavin held out his hand. “Then I guess this is where we part ways, brother.”

Logan reluctantly shook his hand and a small part of him might have been convinced to go. Christ, what kind of asshole turns down a rock star life in a house that would make most rock stars jealous?

Instead, he watched Gavin limp toward the door, clutching the clothes he’d first arrived in, ones he’d probably have to toss for being years out of style. Scars across his back marred his otherwise perfect skin. Scars that just a few years ago didn’t exist.

When the hell did Logan become so privy to Gavin’s every flaw?

His stomach turned.

When had he come to care that every one of those scars were now a permanent part of his brother—a physical reminder of the years he threw away to help some ungrateful fucking hood rat?

No one had ever done something so selfless for Logan before. It pissed him off because now Logan felt the bullshit guilt of needing to pay it back. Damn Gavin for doing this, for putting Logan in a place he didn’t want to be. Grateful. The very thought of the word made him grimace.

Gritting his teeth, he kicked his feet over the edge of the concrete slab and rubbed his hand down his face then stared at a scar across his palm.

What else could he feel toward the motherfucker who’d held his hand as Logan bled out his organs right there on the table?

When Logan thought he’d died, his brother’s voice resonated in his mind. To live.

Logan glanced down and brushed his fingers across the bloodstain that trailed over the edge of the slab.

Gavin had no reason to do it, other than the fact that he believed. Gavin believed that Logan had been born a son of Wrath. He believed that there was more to him than some demented kid with a fucking death wish.

And over time, had Logan himself questioning the possibilities behind those beliefs.

Brotherhood before the blade.

Logan rose from the concrete and grabbed his clothes that’d been left on the floor where his prison issues normally lay. He hobbled toward the entrance and caught a glimpse of Gavin below, taking his first step into freedom. His brother glanced up at him.

Logan retreated back into the shadows of his cell.

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SOUL RESURRECTED (Sons of Wrath, #2) by Keri Lake

As Wrath’s fiercest son, Logan carries the scars of fifty years spent in the most dreaded prison of the underworld, for a sin he’d kill to keep secret. Enduring decades of gruesome torture has left Logan feared by and detached from others, until a female Alexi’s blood resurrects his soul from death and, with it, the pleasures he’s been denied for so long.

Plagued by shame of her own, Calla is drawn to the ruthless demon, Logan, whose insatiable craving for her touch rouses buried passions and, for once, leaves her feeling desired.

A dark and dangerous evil has been reawakened, however, and when Calla is drawn too close to its breeding grounds, Logan vows to summon the violence of Wrath in order to keep her safe. First, though, Calla must save him from a past riddled with deceit and corruption … but only if she can accept the chilling consequences of unearthing his vilest skeleton.